Day of the Stallion
by TheScarletOctopus
Summary: HA's new community service requirement lands Trina, Jade and Beck in a small Northern California town, working as ranch hands. Now they have to cope with all the problems you'd expect: back-breaking labor; constant bickering; unresolved sexual tension between exes; rampaging animals besieging the town and slaughtering humans en masse...hang on, what was that last one again?
1. Disturbing Behavior

**A/N: One day I'll wise up and avoid starting new multi-chapter stories when I've already got others in progress. Today, however, is not that day.**

**I realize this idea may not be of any interest to anyone besides myself, but I wanted to give it a whirl anyway. If nothing else, I figured it would be a good self-imposed challenge to try a story with Beck as a major character; I have a harder time writing for him than for anyone else, largely because he's so unbelievably bland. (There. I said it. I'm not sorry about it, either, even though I know I'll now be torn to pieces by an army of furious Avan Jogia fangirls.)**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

As Principal Dubois droned on and on that June morning, Jade attempted to pass the time by imagining all the places she'd rather be. _In a cage surrounded by sharks…undergoing an audit by the IRS…watching a slideshow of my great-aunt Doris's bunion removal surgery…yep, all better than this._

"So, you can understand," Helen was saying to the assembled seniors, "that we want to make sure Hollywood Arts has a positive image, both here in Los Angeles and beyond. It's all too easy for people who aren't familiar with us to imagine that we're nothing more than a refuge for temperamental, fame-seeking-" here she shot a meaningful look at Trina, sitting on the other side of the assembly hall- "spoiled brats. That's why Lane and I have decided to institute this capstone community service requirement for all rising seniors. Over the next month, you'll each be working at a randomly selected volunteer job. Some will be here in the city, some at other locations around the state."

Jade sighed audibly, drawing a scowl from Lane, who sat next to Helen on the stage.

"First up will be…um…" Helen flipped through a notebook she held. "…working as ranch hands in a town called Schuester, up north. It's supposed to be lovely, from what I hear. You'll be responsible for raising and tending livestock to serve as food for underprivileged children throughout the state. Assigned to this project will be: Jade West…"

Lane's scowl turned to a grin that, at least to Jade, seemed to have a certain element of schadenfreude in it. _Great,_ she thought. _Absolutely frickin' __**terrific.**__ Nothing like a month of scraping up cow patties and chasing after chickens._

"…Beck Oliver…"

"Oh, no," Jade whispered. Instinctively she cast a sidelong glance at him – he was sitting at the far end of the row – but as soon as their eyes met, she turned away quickly, embarrassed. _How am I going to endure working alongside him, after everything that's happened between us? __**Helen **__may not care about her students' lives, but Lane knows that Beck and I had an ugly breakup – why can't he step in and fix this?_

"…and Trina Vega."

"Please, kill me now," Jade said aloud. From across the room Trina yelled, "Don't tempt me!"

"That's enough, both of you!" Lane snapped. "If you want to tear each other apart, at least wait until you're off school grounds!"

Both girls fell silent.

"Now, then," Helen continued. "Working as candy-stripers at East L.A. Community Hospital will be: Cat Valentine, Ryder Daniels, and Sinjin van Cleef…"

But Jade was no longer listening. _This,_ she thought mournfully, _is going to be the worst month of my life._

/

From astride his beloved dappled-gray mare, Molly, Gordon Chance surveyed the boundaries of his property. Most of the grass here had been cut down to stubble by the greedy grazing of sheep, goats and cattle, but every so often a persistent little stalk of green stood out against the red clay. Beyond, a stand of pines, backlit by the fast-setting sun, bent slightly as a strong wind grazed their tips.

The wind carried on it a strong smell – a stench, in fact – that made Chance gasp and nearly retch when it reached him. It was as if all the rotten eggs the world had to offer had been crammed together into one tiny, dense, sulfurous ball and set adrift in the breeze. Clearly Molly didn't like it, either; she shook her head furiously from side to side, seemingly trying to whip the smell out of her beleaguered nostrils.

Finally it passed, and Chance's complexion, which had turned a sickly green, began to recover. But his mare was still out of sorts. Normally gentle and obedient, she now began to buck and thrash about, whinnying with an agony Chance had not seen in her since she had been bitten by a cottonmouth years ago. "Easy, girl," he whispered, stroking her forequarters while gripping the stirrups more tightly to avoid being thrown. "Whatever it was, it's gone now. It's okay. It's…AAAH!"

With one mighty whip of her muscular body, the mare hurled her owner headfirst into the dust. The hard landing knocked the breath out of him; he choked and wheezed, trying to turn himself onto his back.

Molly reared up above him, foam spraying from her wide-open mouth. Swollen blood vessels, like forks of red lightning, bulged in her eyes. Her hooves were poised high in the air.

"No, girl," he gasped. "Please don't do this. Please…"

She slammed down her forelegs, shattering his ribs.

He began to crawl away, toward the road. He could feel the blood pooling inside him, and he knew that his end was near; but if he could just flag down a passing car, have them take him to the hospital in the next county…

But Molly was relentless. She bit down onto his shoulder with her teeth – not made for consuming flesh, but strong and formidable nonetheless – and began to rip and tear, while her left foreleg kicked Chance in the side again and again.

Powerful man though he was, the shock and blood loss were soon too much for him. His vision swam; he could not draw breath. His eyelids fluttered, then shut once and for all.

The mare, her anger satiated, trotted away amiably. Behind her, the road was empty. On the far side a tall sign, painted in cheerful letters of canary yellow, looked down upon the remains of Gordon Chance. It read:

WELCOME TO SCHUESTER, CALIFORNIA

POPULATION 1,275

"A TOWN YOU'LL NEVER FORGET"


	2. Welcome Wagon

**A/N: I'll do another chapter of "House of Cards" by Thursday at the latest.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

"So, how's life at the day care center treating you?"

"Oh, Trina, it's the greatest. I want to have three kids one day. No, four. No-"

"Slow down there, sis. Maybe you should finish high school first before you start planning your little brood."

"When the heck did _you_ become the sensible one?"

Trina chuckled. "It's a new role I'm trying out."

"Well, it suits you. How long until you get to ****CHCH*** is Jade being ***CHCH***…"

"What? Tori, you're breaking up."

"…Trina? Are you there? I can't hear ***CHCH*** any ***CCCHHHHHHHHHH***"

Then came the beep, and the dreaded words: "NO SIGNAL".

Trina sighed and set down her PearPhone. "Jade, can you get any reception?"

The Goth girl gave a quick glance at her own phone and replied: "Nope. Dead as a doornail."

"Dang it!" She turned to watch the slow march of the pine trees past the window behind her. The RV, climbing a steep incline along a two-lane dirt road, wheezed and bumped; the engine of Beck's aging pickup was being strained to its utmost.

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"What?" said Trina impatiently.

"It means we're doomed."

"Huh?"

"Middle of nowhere? No cell phone signal? I've seen plenty of horror movies in my time, Vega. At this point we might as well just wave a banner saying 'HI ZOMBIES, GET YOUR FREE LUNCH HERE!'"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. I'm sure we'll get reception back once we're in town." Trina shoved the phone in her bag and pulled out her compact.

As she was tending to her lip gloss, Jade said abruptly: "I know what you did."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The day Beck and I broke up. I know you tackled him and tried to keep him from going to the door. Cat told me."

Trina squirmed in her seat. "Yeah. That wasn't exactly my finest hour. Sorry."

" 'Sorry'? 'Sorry' isn't going to cut it. If it weren't for you, he would have opened the door. It's what he really _wanted_ to do."

"Uh huh. And you know that how, exactly?"

"You really think I don't know how Beck Oliver thinks after two years of dating him? You disrupted his concentration – you confused him. Everything that's happened is your fault, and you know it."

Trina's blood began to rise. "You just hold on a minute there. I agree that I didn't behave like I should've, but the fight on Sinjin's game show? The constant arguments you two were having? That was all on you. Not me."

"So now I'm being lectured on being a good girlfriend by Trina 'Would Sell Her Soul for a Date' Vega? That's rich." Jade pulled out a pair of shears from her back pocket and snipped them ominously. "Better not fall asleep, sweetheart, or you'll wind up as bald as Cat."

But Trina was not intimidated. "I swear, the lengths you'll go to avoid taking responsibility for your actions are just incredible. No wonder Beck got fed up with you."

The Goth stood up, slowly, menacingly. "Say that again. I _dare_ you."

"I can take you, you know," Trina answered; she too stood, keeping her eyes on Jade.

"Only if you floor me with your bad breath-" Jade stopped dead. Her gaze went to the window behind Trina. "Holy crap. Look out the window."

"How naïve do you think I am? I'm not turning my back on you."

"But it's a deer!" Jade, much to Trina's amazement, seemed to be utterly enraptured.

"_Suuure_ it-"

"No! Seriously! **Look!**" Jade dropped the scissors, apparently as a sign of good faith. Reluctantly, Trina turned – and gasped.

A majestic stag was plunging through the trees alongside the road, keeping pace with the RV as it struggled up the incline.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. Jade stood beside her, so close that their shoulders nearly touched, and said, "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Wait, you actually like deer? I thought you made it your policy to hate _everything_ that other people like."

"Well, then maybe you don't know me as well as you thought."

As Trina considered this, the stag turned to face the RV. Its many-branched antlers caught the morning sunlight, and, though still in swift motion, it seemed for a moment to be frozen in space and time. Trina wished she had a camera – or, better yet, a paintbrush and a canvas – to capture the sight.

The stag charged, and rammed the RV with all its might.

The two girls screamed and fell backwards as the vehicle's metal frame reverberated from the impact. Had the window not been bulletproof glass, it would surely have shattered and lacerated Trina and Jade's faces; as it was, a network of cracks, fine as a spider's web, appeared in the pane. Then the great beast struck again, and the cracks widened.

Beck stomped the gas pedal to the floor. The truck engine growled; the RV lurched forward, but gained little speed. The gradient was too steep, and gravity's drag on the RV too powerful, to prevent the stag from keeping up. It pressed its face against the trembling window glass and bellowed; Trina caught a glimpse of its eyes, the pupils hideously dilated and the corneas blood-red.

The animal drew back and braced itself on its haunches, preparing for a last, fatal spring.

The crack of a rifle shot split the air. The bullet creased the back of the beast's neck, drawing no blood, but startling it enough to draw its attention away from the RV. A second shot landed in the dirt, inches from the stag's hooves; psychotic though it was, the animal's survival instincts were still intact, and it needed no further persuasion to turn and flee, snapping branches off on either side as it disappeared into the depths of the forest.

Beck brought the truck to a stop at the crest of the hill and climbed out, as Trina and Jade exited the RV. They were greeted by a handsome young man in a deputy's uniform who gripped a still smoking rifle tightly. He nodded to them, but did not take his eyes from the forest until he was sure that the stag was truly gone.

"Hope I didn't frighten the living daylights out of you folks with the gunfire," he said.

"Are you kidding? You saved our lives!" Trina replied. "I don't know how to thank…whoa, boy."

Now that the initial shock and burst of adrenaline from the attack had worn off, she was able to see the newcomer clearly. He wasn't a big man – only a few inches taller than Trina herself, in fact – but he had an extraordinarily powerful build; his neck was as thick as a bull's, and the sleeves of his uniform could barely contain his biceps. Yet his face was compassionate, his smile soft and comforting, and his steel-gray eyes strangely bewitching.

"It's…so nice to meet you…I'm Vega Trina…um, I mean Trina Vega…and this is, uh, Jade…Jade Oliver and Beck West…I mean Beck Oliver and Jade West…"

He furrowed his brow in concern. "Are you all right? You didn't suffer a concussion or anything, did you?"

"If she calls me Jade Oliver again, she's _going_ to suffer a concussion," snapped Jade from behind Trina, who paid her no mind.

"What's…what's your name?" Trina at last managed to stammer.

"Yang. Harry Yang. No relation to Bond, James Bond – at least as far as I know." He grinned, exposing perfectly straight white teeth. Trina wondered for a moment whether she was actually going to faint.

Beck stepped forward and shook the deputy's hand. "Thanks, man. I don't know what we would have done without you."

"Not a problem. I'm sorry you had to get such a rough introduction to our little town."

"Do you always send out killer animals to meet newcomers?" Jade snarked; but Harry seemed to find no humor in the remark.

"It's the darnedest thing. For the last two weeks, off and on, we've had all kinds of creatures just up and…well, go berserk, not to put too fine a point on it. Poor Gordon Chance – he was a big local rancher – got trampled to death by his own mare, and the mayor's golden retriever tried to maul a kid and had to be euthanized. At first we thought it might be a rabies outbreak, but the researchers we called in from UC-Davis couldn't find any traces of infection."

The three teenagers exchanged worried looks.

"Is it safe to be here?" Beck asked the deputy. "We're supposed to be staying for a month, and I don't want anything to happen to Ja-…to either of the girls."

"I can handle myself just fine, you know," Jade shot back – and then murmured, turning away: "Thanks, though."

"You should be fine," said Harry. "Sheriff Porter and I will make sure things don't get out of hand. Where will you be working?"

"Some place called…" Beck consulted his PearPad. "The Coldstream Farm."

"Well, there you go. Nothing bigger on Coldstream Farm than pigs and chickens…except for Thunderheart, that is."

"Thunderheart?" said Trina.

"Finest stallion west of the Rocky Mountains. He's the farm mascot, if you like. Pretty much got the run of the place. But you've got nothing to fear from him – he's gentle as a kitten when it comes to dealing with people."

_I bet __**you're **__gentle as a kitten, too. Oh, how I'd like to find out…_

Trina smacked herself on the temple to silence the thought. _Get a __**grip**__, girl!_

Harry was watching her closely. "Are you _sure_ you're all right? I'd better drive you into town and have Doc Samuels look you over."

"No, really, I'm perfectly…"

_Wait a minute. A ride with him? Alone?_

"…Actually, you know what? I think I did hit my head pretty badly. I'd better take you up on that offer."

"The hell is the _matter_ with you, Vega? You never hit-"

Fortunately for Trina, Beck was swifter to comprehend the situation than Jade was. He quickly cut in: "You two go on ahead. Jade and I will follow in the RV once I've checked out the damage."

"And who made _you_ the boss?" Jade yelled.

"Babe, can you just not cause a fuss for once in your life-"

She stared at him. "I'm sorry, did you just call me 'babe'?"

"I…yeah, I guess. Force of habit. Sorry."

"Well, hurry up and _break_ the habit!" She waved impatiently at Trina. "Off you go, Little Miss Imaginary Concussion. Have a blast with Deputy McHunky."

As Trina followed Harry Yang to his car, her eyes fixated on his broad shoulders, she thought to herself:

_Maybe life in Schuester won't be so bad after all._


	3. High Anxiety

**A/N: One more chapter before I return to "House of Cards". For those who are following that story and eager for a continuation, forgive me – I'm just on a roll with this one at the moment. Thanks to those who've reviewed so far; if you're reading this but haven't yet reviewed, please do so – I welcome any and all feedback, positive or negative.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

"So, this is 'downtown'?" said Jade with a snicker. "Doesn't that term imply, you know, an actual _town_?"

"Play nice," Beck shot back. "The last thing we want to do is alienate the locals by making fun of their home. We've got to live alongside these people for a month, you know."

But inwardly he admitted, reluctantly, that she had a point. Downtown Schuester was little more than a bank, a feed store, a doctor's office, a combined post office-telephone exchange, and a tiny courthouse that doubled as the city hall.

And yet, the air was fresh, the sky clear and blissfully unpolluted, and everyone they had so far met on their stroll down Main Street was polite and friendly. And the quiet! Beck had lived so long in the vibrant but horribly crowded atmosphere of Los Angeles that he had all but forgotten what it was like not to be assaulted by traffic noise and loud cell phone conversations on every side. Except for the distant lowing of cattle, the occasional clucking of chickens, and the voices of two men who were playing dominoes on the feed store porch, Schuester was as peaceful as Eden.

Beck noticed as they approached the feed store that one of the domino players wore a sheriff's uniform. He and Jade climbed the steps.

"Good morning," the sheriff said, and Beck instinctively recoiled at the smell of alcohol on his breath. Two empty bottles lay at his feet.

"…Good morning. This is a lovely town."

"We like to think so," the other player said. He was a tall, lanky man with an aquiline nose; there was a notable air of authority about him, which his graying hair only added to. He rose to shake Beck's hand. "Gary Swenson, mayor. This here is Joe Porter, Schuester County Sheriff. Who might you folks be?"

"I'm Beck Oliver, and this is Jade West," Beck replied, nodding to his ex-girlfriend, who was pointedly keeping her distance from the puffy-eyed sheriff. "We're going to be working at a place called Coldstream Farm for the next few weeks. Would you mind giving us directions?"

"Not at all. Just follow Main Street north about three miles, then turn left onto the farm road and go west a half mile or so. You can't miss it."

"Great, thanks. I guess we'll be seeing you around."

Trina and Deputy Yang emerged from the doctor's office across the street. Beck and Jade turned and headed back down the steps to meet them.

"Have a nice day, pretty lady," Sheriff Porter called after Jade.

"You're three times my age, you freak!" she shouted back.

"I was just trying to be polite, is all. I'm a happily married man, you know. And besides, I'm sure that boy of yours is meeting all your needs in _that_ department."

"Is there any way you could arrest yourself as a sexual deviant?"

But Beck had already taken Jade's elbow and was hurrying her away, not wanting to escalate the confrontation further. Trina waved at them.

"Clean bill of health!" she chirped.

Jade rolled her eyes. "Color me shocked."

Beck approached Harry. "Could we speak to you for a moment? Privately?"

"Of course."

The little group began walking south, back toward the grassy knoll on which Beck had parked the RV. When he was sure they were out of earshot of the sheriff and mayor, he began:

"Deputy-"

"Harry, please."

"Okay, Harry – I'm not really sure how to put this delicately, but-"

"Your boss is a drunk," Jade put in abruptly.

"…And that would be the _least_ delicate way to put it _ever_!" Beck snapped.

"Why sugarcoat it? Killer deer are running amok, and the highest-ranking law enforcement official in fifty miles has bourbon on his breath at ten o'clock in the morning. Shouldn't Deputy Biceps here step in and force him to sober up?"

Harry Yang was quivering with barely suppressed anger. "Don't you _ever_ speak like that about Sheriff Porter again. He is a_ fine_ man. He's just…having some troubles right now. Gordon Chance was one of his oldest and closest friends, not to mention his brother-in-law. How exactly would_ you_ react if you saw your best buddy's corpse after he'd been trampled to death, missy?"

Jade opened her mouth again, and Beck closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, wondering what horrible insult his ex was going to fling at this poor man.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Beck opened his eyes and stared at her.

"I didn't think. I just…I need a better filter between my brain and my mouth," she went on.

Harry relaxed. "Apology accepted. And I admit, I wish the Sheriff wouldn't…wouldn't drink quite so much." He stared at the ground, clearly uncomfortable at speaking ill of a man for whom he worked and whom he respected so highly. "But I can't 'force' him to sober up. Hell, no one can 'force' Joe Porter to do anything. You know the saying 'stubborn as a mule'? He makes mules look easygoing by comparison."

"Still, what if there's a crisis?" Jade pointed out. "How do you know he's not going to get completely hammered and leave you in the lurch? I mean, you're obviously competent – and judging from what happened to us, you're one hell of a good shot – but you can't be expected to handle everything alone."

"Hey!" Trina replied. "I'm sure Harry can cope with anything that comes up. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "I just wish we could figure out what's causing this odd animal behavior and nip it in the bud. After all, Jade does have a point – if this disease, or whatever it is, starts to spread, or even, God forbid, turns into some kind of epidemic…I don't really like to think about what might happen. About the only recourse we'd have is calling in the National Guard, and it might take them a while to respond, especially considering that we don't have reliable cell phone service out here. Until they arrived, the Sheriff and I would just have to hold the line and hope for the best."

"I don't like the way that sounds," said Trina. "I don't want you to have to pull some kind of grand heroic sacrifice."

"Comes with the job, I'm afraid."

Beck saw the worry and fear clouding Trina's eyes. _Man, she's really fallen hard for this guy, hasn't she? Well, at least this means she won't be pestering me for the next month…still, it's kind of sweet. If Trina can be so fearful on behalf of somebody she's just met, maybe she's not quite as selfish as I've always thought._

"Just…watch out for yourself," Trina whispered.

Harry had clearly noticed her fear too, for he smiled and patted her shoulder. "I will, as long as you promise to do the same."

When they returned to the RV, Jade took the wheel of the pickup to give Beck a break, since he'd been driving the whole way so far. As they headed along the dirt road out of town, Beck said to Trina, "You mind if I give you a piece of advice?"

"Shoot."

"Be careful. Please. You don't even really know this guy, and we're only going to be here a month anyway. Getting too attached might be risky."

Trina looked taken aback. "Wow, a heart-to-heart from Beck Oliver. And here I thought I was nothing more to you than 'Tori's annoying sister'."

"Just because I'm not interested in you romantically doesn't mean I don't care about you," he said quietly. "And I'm not going to stand by while you get hurt. Whatever's happened between us in the past, you're still my friend. I want you to know that."

"…Thanks, Beck. That means a lot to me."

"You're welcome. Now, don't let me discourage you from having fun with…what did Jade call him? 'Deputy Biceps'? Just know that if he doesn't treat you right, I _will _have to kick his ass."

"You sure you could?"

"Um…in a fight? Well…okay, probably not. But give each of us a Shakespeare soliloquy to recite, and he's going _down_."

They were both still laughing when Jade drove through the open gates of Coldstream Farm.


	4. The Merry Widow

**A/N: To be frank, I'm debating whether I should pull the plug on this story. It doesn't seem to be generating a great deal of reader interest. Any thoughts?**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

As they disembarked, a smiling woman in dirty gray overalls came out of the front door of the nearby two-story house to greet them.

Jade was surprised at her relative youth. The deputy with whom Trina was so hopelessly infatuated had called her "the widow Coldstream," and Jade had formed a mental picture of a crotchety old lady who walked with a cane and a stoop while snapping things like "Wipe your dang feet before you set foot in my house!" But Susan Coldstream could not be more than fifty, and was as buoyant and energetic as someone half her age. Her strawberry-blonde hair hung loose about her shoulders, and she wore no shoes, so that the dust swirled about her toes as she bounced through the farmyard on the balls of her feet. Neither did she wear any makeup, and her only jewelry was a diamond engagement ring and golden wedding band on her left hand.

"Good morning, good morning!" she called when she was still some ways off. "You must be my three happy helpers from Los Angeles!"

"Helpers, yes," said Jade. "As for happy…"

"Jade?" said Beck with a distinct tone of warning. "Don't…"

Susan raised a hand to cut him off. "Not a problem. City folks often feel a bit out of sorts when they get their first taste of the rural life – and I understand you three aren't exactly here voluntarily, anyway."

"Well, it was this or the gulag…"

"JADE!"

"Hmm. You, missy, are going to be a challenge, I can tell that right now. What might your name be?"

"It _might_ be Wilhelmina Q. Fenderbender, but it actually_ is_ Jade West."

"Got your sarcasm armor on already, I see. No sweat. I've broken colts a lot more ornery than you in my time. Y'all want to come on in? I've got lemonade ready."

In the little parlor, Jade tossed her heavy black jacket aside – there was no A/C, and the heat was sweltering – and took a deep swig from one of the glasses of lemonade set out upon a plate. It was deliciously tart, and made her mouth pucker.

"Well," she said after draining the entire glass in two more gulps, "at least there's _one_ thing here that doesn't stink."

As Beck and Trina seated themselves, Jade wandered over to a flight of stone steps that led down to what was clearly the basement. She was surprised to see that the heavy oak door down below was locked with half a dozen padlocks.

"Geez, you keeping a horde of monsters down there, or what?"

Susan chuckled – a bit uneasily, it seemed to Jade. "Nothing so spectacular. That's just…well, think of it as the 'family vault'. It's where the most precious Coldstream treasures are stored, you see."

"Ah. I don't suppose I could have a look?"

"Why?" Was that _anger_ in the woman's voice?

"Just curious, is all." Jade would never admit the truth, even to herself – that coming from a broken family, she was fascinated by the idea of actually being connected to one's ancestors, and wanted, even if only by proxy, to have a taste of that sort of strong familial heritage.

"Might be better for you to bury that curiosity." The jocularity had returned to Susan's voice, but there was still a hint of ice in her gaze. "Anyway, other than the basement, you three have got the run of the house. I've already changed the sheets in the guest bedroom – although I'm afraid there's only the one bed."

Jade and Beck exchanged uneasy looks. "Why don't the girls take the bedroom," Beck finally said, "and I'll stick to the RV? I'm used to it, after all."

"All righty. Be sure to turn in early this evening – chores start at 6:00 every morning."

Jade groaned.

"Oh, hush. You've got no reason to complain; I'm giving you the best job of all. Carlos – he's one of the ranch hands – is going to take our prize stallion Thunderheart out for a ride, and you can accompany him."

Inwardly Jade was thrilled at the idea – she loved horses, always had – but she was careful to maintain her mask of indifference. "Fine, whatever. As long as it means no pitching hay."

/

In the depths of the night, as the three teenagers slept soundly, Susan Coldstream took Jade's forgotten jacket from the chair where she had flung it and descended the basement stairs. At their foot she drew a massive key-ring from her pocket and opened the padlocks one by one, with a swiftness born of long practice. The door swung open with a groan, to reveal an impromptu laboratory. Green and yellow liquids bubbled ominously in great bell-shaped flasks; a DNA centrifuge and a deep freezer hummed with electricity, while a computer against the far wall silently analyzed data and extrapolated results.

The only sign that the room might have a deeper purpose than simple research was a small photograph in a pink frame propped up against the computer monitor. A middle-aged man with cheery eyes hugged an eight-year-old girl whose strawberry-blonde pigtails waved in the breeze.

Susan set the jacket down on her workbench and picked up the photo. A single tear rolled from her eye onto the glass as she kissed first the man, then the girl.

"Soon," she whispered. "Soon they'll all pay for taking you away from me."

A voice whispered to her from the darkness behind her: "Don't do this, sweetheart. Please. This isn't the answer. Vengeance won't bring us back – it'll just leave you empty."

She had heard this voice many times since she began the project, and while she had never managed to silence it entirely, it no longer held the bitter sting for her that it had when it first appeared.

"We've been over this, Tom," she said aloud. "There's no other way. You have to trust me that this is what's best."

He did not answer, but now, for the first time, another voice spoke: high-pitched, quavering – a child's.

"Mommy? Are you going to hurt somebody again?"

It had been ten years since she last heard that voice. Her heart began to pound madly; her hands shook. "Hannah?"

"Mommy, it makes me sad when you hurt people."

"Oh, baby," she sobbed. "I don't _want_ to make you sad, but – oh, how can I make you understand why I'm doing this? You're so young…"

The male voice returned: "Let the pain go, Susan. Let us rest."

"I…I want to…"

The image of Gordon Chance's mauled body flashed before her mind's eye.

Steely resolve entered her voice. "I'm sorry, Tom, I truly am. But I've already got blood on my hands. The die has been cast."

"No, Mommy…" cried the unseen child.

"Be quiet now, Hannah," she replied, slowly, calmly. "Mommy has to work."

The room was silent once again.

Susan poured part of the contents of one of the flasks into a spray bottle and spritzed it freely over Jade's jacket. The sulfurous odor would have given anyone else nausea, but she was inured to it by now.

She checked her watch. 1:17 A.M. By the time the West girl was up and about at 6:00, the stench would have diminished enough that neither she nor her friends would notice it.

But a horse's sense of smell is far keener than any human's. And the moment the last remnants of the scent reached Thunderheart's olfactory nerves, he would be driven utterly mad. Even an experienced horseman would never be able to control him in that state – the West girl, a total neophyte, would surely be killed in seconds.

Susan bore no personal enmity toward Jade – in fact, she rather liked the girl's snarky attitude; it reminded her of herself when she was a teenager. But she couldn't take any chances that Jade's curiosity might lead her to interfere with the final stage of the project. A decade of ceaseless work and planning must not be allowed to go to waste.

She _had_ to succeed. And she _would_ succeed. The animals would rise up to exterminate the pestilence of man, and the rivers would run red with the blood of the slain.

It was only a matter of time.


	5. Red Sky at Morning

**A/N: Okay, guess there's more reader interest than I thought. I'll go ahead and continue this, at least for the time being. Also, stay tuned to the end of this chapter for a special announcement!**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

The song of cardinals in the distant treetops greeted Jade as she rubbed the last remnants of sleep from her eyes and followed the ranch-hand Carlos out to the stables behind the house. Pink cirrus clouds tinged with red, like swirls of cotton candy, decorated the sky to the east. Jade remembered the old nautical saying: "Red sky at morning, sailors take warning." Perhaps there was a storm on the way.

Not that she would mind, really. She loved thunderstorms – loved everything about them. The lightning forking across the sky, the great booms of thunder that shook the world, the sheets of rain that dissolved the crisp edges of the world into a multi-colored blur, like a palette of paints hurled at a canvas.

Still, right now it was hard to believe anything so chaotic as a storm could break upon this placid little world. Somewhere a heifer mooed, begging to be milked. A squirrel, its cheeks stuffed with acorns, scuttled across the ground, eyed Jade briefly, and then darted up the trunk of a nearby oak.

Carlos opened the wooden gate to the stable, and Jade, entering, was greeted by the sight of the most majestic horse she had ever seen.

Thunderheart was sleek and muscular – not a square inch of fat or flab anywhere in his mighty body. His mane, silky and impeccably groomed, fell easily along his sinewy neck. His tail whipped about so quickly as to be almost invisible. And he was black – black as coal, black as night, black as a flock of ravens.

Jade stared in awe.

"He is _muy magnifico_, is he not?" said Carlos, running a soothing hand down the stallion's forequarters. "So powerful, but he is gentle, too. He loves all people."

Thunderheart began to stamp the earth impatiently with his great hooves.

"He is eager to be ridden, as always. Do you wish the honor, _senorita_ West?"

"Oh, yes. Sweet merciful Heaven, yes."

As she approached the horse, she drew her jacket tightly about her. It was surprising how stubbornly the chill of night still lingered in the air. Of course, it would no doubt be like a blast furnace once again by noon.

Carlos saddled the horse and helped Jade onto his back. Thunderheart turned and sniffed the newcomer.

"Hey, boy. My name's Jade. Ready to stretch your legs?"

The stallion's eyes went red, and he broke into a frenzied gallop.

Jade, holding on to his neck for dear life, screamed. Carlos gave chase, but Thunderheart easily outdistanced him. At last, as they neared a wooden fence, Jade saw the panting ranch hand abandon the pursuit and turn back to the house to get help.

The fence reached to Thunderheart's chest, and she prayed he would be able to jump it safely; but instead the great stallion simply plunged ahead and struck the cross-beams full on, shattering them like matchsticks with the power that his adrenaline-fueled rage granted him. Splinters whipped about in the air, stinging Jade's face and hands.

They were plowing through a field of tall clover now, heading for a stand of pines in the distance. Jade squeezed as tightly as she could, but her grip was weakening as her muscles grew fatigued. She felt her legs slipping; she tried to right herself, but slowly, inch by inch, she was sliding off the horse's back toward his left flank. In a moment, she would be dragged along the ground, her skull fractured.

The whirr of tires kicking up dirt and grass reached her ears. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something large approaching, and two vague figures within.

"Jade!" One of them yelled.

_Beck?_

The Jeep pulled alongside, Carlos at the wheel. Beck unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned as far out of the passenger side as he could without toppling over. "Grab my hands, babe!"

"No…I can't…"

"Yes you can! You _have_ to!"

"…Don't let me fall…"

"_Never!"_

There was nothing to do but to trust him.

She released the desperate grip of her legs upon Thunderheart, and, at the same moment, flung her arms out, searching for Beck's strong hands. For one nightmarish moment, she could not find them, and she felt herself adrift in space, waiting for death…

Then he caught her.

Summoning up every ounce of his strength, he drew her into the speeding Jeep. Carlos braked to a stop, as Thunderheart, neighing furiously, disappeared over the horizon.

"You…you came…why?" she whispered as she lay in his lap.

"Do you really need to ask that question?"

"I told him not to come," said Carlos. "But he would not listen. 'I have to save her,' is all that he would say, over and over. _É__l te ama_, senorita. Do not believe him if he tells you otherwise."

Jade looked into Beck's eyes.

"Would it…would it be all right with you if I slept in the RV tonight?"

"Of course. It's all yours. I've got my sleeping bag – I don't mind camping out."

She caught the mischievous twinkle in his eye. "That's not what I meant, Beck Oliver, and you darn well know it."

He chuckled as he pulled her close to him. She wrapped her arms around his midsection and felt the taut muscles she knew so well.

"Don't let me go," she whispered.

"I won't, babe. Never again."

/

The red sky's warning had not been in vain. As twilight came on, a rain, first hesitant, then steady, began to fall upon the little town of Schuester. Thunder rumbled over the distant mountains.

Esther Robinson, Schuester's telephone operator for sixty of her eighty-two years of life, sat at her switchboard, alone in the darkened post office, and watched the raindrops race one another down the frosted glass window. Suddenly she was startled by a knock at the door.

Rising with difficulty – her old bones ached whenever there was bad weather – she opened it, to find a very wet Susan Coldstream standing on the porch.

"Susan, dear! Come on in and dry yourself off." She stepped aside to make way for the younger woman. "Whatever brings you here on a night like this?"

As answer, Susan slid a Colt .45 from her handbag and leveled it at the old woman's chest.

Esther was too befuddled even to feel fear. "Good heavens, dear, what do you think you're doing? Put that thing away! Someone might get hurt!"

"Someone _will_ get hurt."

"I don't understand…"

"Of course you don't. You're a sweetheart, Esther, and I'll be sad to see you go; but when all is said and done, you're still part of the human vermin that infests the Earth. _And I'm pest control_."

Three ear-splitting cracks in quick succession: one from the lightning outside, two from the barrel of the Colt. A bullet in Esther's heart, then another between her eyes, as insurance.

The old woman fell back into her chair, which spun halfway around from the impact of her body. Her mouth hung open grotesquely, a trickle of blood at its corner.

Calmly Susan put away the gun and set to work. One by one, she pulled each of the phone lines out of the switchboard. This done, she took a fire ax from its station on the wall and began to hack away at the switchboard, again and again, until it disintegrated into irreparable shards.

_Done and done. No help will come from the outside world. Not until it's too late._

She returned to her pickup and opened the valve on the modified propane tank that sat in the truck bed. There was a gentle hiss, barely audible over the increasingly fierce patter of rain.

A yellowish gas leaked out, into the wind.

It was too soon, really. She had intended to work for another six months to a year, running more field tests, accumulating enough gas to blanket the entire West Coast. But the heat was on her thanks to the West girl's improbable survival, and if she didn't strike now, she might never get the chance again.

As the sulfurous stench mingled with the fresh smell of the raindrops, she remembered that day, ten years ago. Every detail was crystal clear. The rhubarb pie she'd left in the oven. The young Holstein calf tottering about, only a few days old. And Joe Porter's despairing face when she opened the door to his knock.

Somehow, she had known what the words would be before he spoke them.

_Drunk driver._

_Car flipped._

_Too badly burned._

_I'm so, so sorry._

Her husband and her daughter were the two finest, purest souls she had ever known. And for some drunken fool to take them from her, to snuff out the candle of their lives…it proved, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that there was no place for goodness in the world.

From that day on, she had preferred the company of animals to human beings. And every night, brooding upon her bereavement, she grew more convinced that the problem was not that one drunken driver, now rotting in prison. No, it was man as a whole that was to blame – man the blunderer, man the slaughterer, man the disease. And the balance of nature would never be restored until that disease was cured.

But animals needed help to regain their place in the world. Man had reduced them, through a judicious combination of carrot and stick, to terrified docility. Her invention – the fruit of all her accumulated biochemical knowledge – did away with that docility, gave back to four-footed creatures the wildness that was theirs by right.

Now, thanks to her miraculous chemical compound, every beast in a radius of fifty miles would rise up, and sweep mankind away in their onrushing tide.

"Glory hallelujah," she whispered into the driving rain.

**And now for that special announcement:**

**As a "thank you" to those who encouraged me to continue this story, here's a sneak preview of my next multi-chapter…**

_**Night and the City**_

The place: Los Angeles. The year: 1952. Movie star – and notorious womanizer – Ryder Daniels engages in a very public fight with the only woman who's ever stood up to him: nightclub singer Tori Vega. Hours later, Ryder Daniels is dead, strangled from behind in his penthouse apartment. The cops promptly zero in on Tori's new beau, Andre Harris, as the culprit. After all, he's got motive, he has no alibi, and as a black man in an interracial relationship in the segregated 1950s, he's an easy target. Now Andre's facing the electric chair for a crime he didn't commit, and there's only one person Tori can turn to if she wants to save his life: her estranged sister Trina, L.A.'s first female private eye.


	6. Guests Welcome and Unwelcome

**A/N: To the reviewer who said that this story seemed a bit "meh" compared to my others: I see where you're coming from. In my defense, I'm doing about a dozen different things right now, and fan-fiction is generally the lowest on my list of priorities, so by the time I get around to writing, my tank is pretty much empty. That said, I'll try to make this one a little more engaging for as long as it lasts.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

Summer storms are generally known for two things: their intensity and their brevity. But this cloudburst, while as intense as any that Schuester County had ever seen, simply refused to let up. If anything, it grew more ferocious as the minutes passed, until the red clay of the soil, which weeks of high temperatures had dried into a crumbling powder, was churned up into a river of sludge that flowed thickly down the gentle slope of the valley toward the town below. On Coldstream Farm above the town, sheep and goats bleated in piteous confusion as the mud sucked at their legs.

Trina Vega sat in a rocking chair in the parlor, nursing her aching limbs and back. She had never worked so hard in her life: pitching hay, milking cattle, washing out manure from the stables – ceaseless labor from sunrise to sunset. Aside from lunch, the only break had come when an injured Jade was brought back by Carlos and Beck that morning.

Jade, it turned out, would be fine – her inner arms and thighs were bruised, but that was the worst of the harm. Still, Thunderheart's bizarre behavior worried Trina. If so friendly an animal as the black stallion couldn't be relied upon, what might happen if the more innately hostile creatures that haunted the woods and the mountains were driven to the same madness?

Hoping to distract herself from these unsettling thoughts, she picked up a Bible from the end-table and began to read; but she could not concentrate on the words – they swam around in her brain, no one connected to any other. At last she gave up the effort and tried to think of passages she knew by heart, those she had learned as a child:

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me…"

Thunder rattled the house to its very foundations, making Trina gasp.

Out of the diminishing echo of the thunder came the wail of a siren. She went to the front door, just in time to see the spray of mud as Harry Yang's police cruiser pulled into the yard. Hurriedly she ran to meet him.

"You need to evacuate," he said as soon as she was within earshot, not even bothering with a greeting. "It's not safe here."

"What are you talking about?"

"If this rain doesn't let up within an hour or so, we're looking at flood conditions. Macmillan Creek is already over its banks, and you folks are right inside its flood plain."

"You could have just called us. You didn't have to come out here and put yourself in danger!"

"I didn't have a choice, Miss Vega. Cell phones are out, and for some reason I couldn't get through to Esther at the exchange to make a call via land line. Once I'm through here, I'm heading into town to make sure she's all right. Who else is here with you?"

"There's Beck and Jade – they're in the RV out back. And Carlos is tending to the animals. I don't know where Susan's gotten to."

"All right. I'll go warn-" He broke into a fit of coughing.

A moment later, Trina realized why. The air had suddenly become saturated with a smell like that of rotten eggs, but a thousand times more pungent. Its nauseating tendrils reached into her throat and seared the inner surface of her lungs, leaving her gasping for air.

The wind blowing from town was fast whipping up into a gale, and the toxic chemical it brought in its train thickened into a pale yellow cloud. Harry and Trina sank to their knees, retching.

"H-house…" Trina pointed with a shaking finger.

Harry nodded. Leaning upon one another for support, they half-walked, half-crawled through the slick mud to the still open front door. As soon as they were over the threshold, Trina slammed it shut with all her might, then scurried to and fro, making sure every window on the first floor was tightly closed.

When she returned, she found Harry speaking on his walkie-talkie, his voice still hoarse from the inhalations. "No, Sheriff, I don't know what's going on. Gas leak, maybe. Can you send help?"

"Sorry, kid…ever'body's…ever'body's tied up somewhere else…guess I could, um, try to raise the…the National Guard…"

Though the words were marred by static, they were still clear enough for Trina to detect the tell-tale hesitation and slurring of words. Her heart sank. Jade's prediction had come true; when he was most needed, Joe Porter was drunk. Silently, she cursed the old fool.

"All right, I guess we don't have a choice," said Harry, running his fingers impatiently through his black hair. "Can you get through to Sacramento via radio?"

No reply.

"Sheriff?"

Slow, sad words came from the little black box: "It's too much. I can't…oh, Harry, I'm so tired. Just let me rest…"

"Sheriff, you need to pull yourself together _right now_. The lives of everybody in town are depending on you." The young deputy's voice rose. "I need a leader, not a drunken sot!"

"…Of course. Of course you're right." The tinny voice sighed. "I'll get in touch with Sacramento. You should see about…NO! NO, GET AWAY!"

A gunshot.

"Sheriff? SHERIFF!"

But there was only silence now.

Harry Yang slowly switched off the walkie-talkie. "What…what was it?" asked Trina. "Was he having some kind of drunken hallucination? Like the DTs or something?"

"Dear Lord, I hope so," he whispered. "Because the only other possibility is-"

A distant slam made them both jump. Harry Yang's hand instinctively moved toward his holster.

"It's all right," said Trina. "It's just the screen door that leads from the kitchen into the hen-yard. I guess Carlos forgot to close it when he went out."

She rose and entered the long hallway that led to the kitchen. Above her, the lights flickered weakly.

_Please don't have a power outage,_ she prayed. _Please, please,__** please**__ don't have a…_

Darkness.

_Damn._

She was still unfamiliar with the house, and within moments she was reduced to groping along the walls like a blind woman, dependent upon her sense of touch to guide her. Slowly she turned a corner, hoping it was the entrance to the kitchen.

"Aagh!" Her foot, protected only by a flimsy slipper, had struck something cold and hard – an andiron, she guessed. _Well, at least I know where the fireplace is…_

She ran her hands along the brickwork of the mantel and sidestepped right, ignoring the throbbing pain in her toes. When next she extended her fingers, she found empty space; and as she carefully advanced, her waist bumped into the kitchen table.

Her eyes were slowly but surely adjusting themselves to the lack of light, and if she strained she could just make out the subtle difference in shades of black between the room itself and the rectangle of open air framed by the doorway. A gust of wind banged the screen door against its frame once again.

Trina pulled it shut and locked it. _Hope nothing got in while-_

Something furry and four-footed bumped softly against the cabinet and rounded the table.

_Crud. A stray dog. Just what I need right now._

She dimly remembered that Susan had mentioned an emergency flashlight in one of the drawers. One by one she rifled through them, trying to ignore the almost inaudible thump of padded feet on the linoleum as the creature circled endlessly.

Finally her fingers touched the longed-for cylinder of metal. She spun around and flicked the flashlight on in a single motion.

As the intruder flinched in the unexpected beam of light, Trina recognized the unique shape of the face, the tall ears and wicked fangs.

_No. Not a dog._

_A coyote._

Still she was not yet terrified. Coyotes are scavengers, after all; they would much sooner rifle through a human being's trash cans than attack him.

"There's no food for you here, boy," she said, fighting to keep the nervousness out of her voice. "Not even scraps. Sorry."

The coyote stared at her, unblinking.

"…So, um, you'll probably just want to be moving along. Okay?"

Slowly, the shape of its mouth began to change, taking on what looked to Trina, in her anxiety, like some horrible mockery of a human's grin.

Then it leapt, burying its teeth in Trina's bare calf.

The pain was agonizing, but not so much so that Trina lost her presence of mind completely. Even as she fell hard onto the floor, her back banging against the open drawer, she managed to lift the heavy flashlight high and bring it down square onto the animal's skull.

The coyote was stunned, but did not loosen its grip. Trina struck again, harder this time, and the beast reeled.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, its teeth came free from her leg, and she seized the opportunity. Taking hold of the flashlight with both hands, and swinging it like a baseball bat, she bashed in the coyote's temple. It fell onto its side, twitched, and then was still.

Now that the immediate threat was over and the adrenaline rush gone, Trina became fully aware of how badly her leg hurt. She could only pray that the coyote hadn't been rabid.

She set down the flashlight to free up her hands for tending to the wound. The beam shone through the screen door and illuminated the hen-yard, as well as a stretch of the slope beyond.

Just on the edges of the light it cast, a new pair of eyes glinted out of the darkness.

Then another.

A third, a fourth, a fifth.

Harry Yang appeared, gun drawn. Seeing Trina prostrate on the floor, he holstered his weapon, ripped off a portion of the kitchen tablecloth, and began to apply a makeshift tourniquet to her still bleeding leg.

"I'm so sorry I didn't get here quickly enough. I couldn't find my way through this damn house in the dark, and – what? What is it?"

Her vocal cords would not work – they had turned to ice. She could only raise a finger and point to the kitchen door.

Harry turned to look.

"Oh, dear God," he whispered.

With the slow, deliberate pace of an army forming into line of battle, at least twenty coyotes, a dozen wolves, and an indeterminate number of bobcats and mountain lions were descending the slope. The churning, greedy mud did not bother them, nor did they show any signs of aggression towards one another. All their collective attention was fixed, like a laser, upon the two human figures cowering in abject terror within the Coldstream house.

One by one, the predators bared their fangs.


	7. The Wolf and the Lamb

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

"Stay still."

"I'm trying, I'm trying. It just…hurts. Even with you being as gentle as you can."

Beck applied the lotion to Jade's many bruises with careful sweeping motions, circling the palm of his hand in whorls. At first they had thought the injuries were restricted to her arms, but once she removed her shirt in the privacy of the RV, it became clear that much of her torso and abdomen was covered in black and blue. Already Beck's forearms were growing weary from the endless rubbing; but he had no intention of stopping. Not until he was sure that every inch of Jade's body was free from pain.

"You don't have to do this, you know," she murmured as she turned face down on the couch and he set to work on the small of her back. "I'll be fine. I swear."

"Oh, hush," he said with a tiny smile. "That patented Jade West show of bravado doesn't work on me."

She was silent for a moment. The RV was filled with the soothing white noise of the rain against the windows.

"You didn't have to do _any_ of this," she said at last. "Risking your neck for me like that…when I saw you there, in the Jeep, I thought for a moment I was dreaming. It was insane, you insisting on trying to save me when you had every reason to hate me."

He stopped. "_Hate_ you? Why on _Earth_ would you think that-"

"I've never been a good girlfriend, Beck. Hell, I'm not worth much as a _person_. I walk around like I'm covered in invisible daggers, so that anybody who touches me starts bleeding. I can't even count the number of times I must have hurt you."

"It never bothered me. Not really."

"Why not?"

"Because I can see the real you, Jade. The pain you carry inside, every minute of every day. The fear that everyone you meet will turn on you, so you turn on them first."

"But…but that's just what makes me a bad person."

"No. That's what makes you _human_."

"Beck…I…" Her voice caught in her throat.

"It's okay. You don't have to hold back the tears. Not in front of me."

She rolled over and grasped his hand tightly. He leaned down until their lips met and clung together.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Don't you dare answer that," she told him.

"I wasn't planning to."

But the knock repeated itself, and grew louder: THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

Reluctantly, he rose. "Babe, it might be Carlos, needing to get shelter from the rain."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She pulled her shirt back on, winching as the fabric touched her still raw flesh. "But we're going to finish this later."

"I'm counting on it." He was grinning widely at the thought as he opened the door. "Yes? Who is it?"

But there was no one there.

He leaned out into the now driving rain. "Hello? Anyone?"

An acrid smell assaulted his nostrils, and he drew back into the shelter of the RV. As he did so, his eye caught a small, black shape jerking about on the ground. He knelt and wiped away the thick mud, revealing the fragile body of a fruit bat. There were droplets of blood on its tiny skull, and its head sat at an unnatural angle – a broken neck, he guessed.

He turned to examine the door, and saw the same droplets upon it. It was clear what had happened.

"You poor thing," he said to the small dying creature. "What would make you go and do a thing like that?"

_Just like the deer yesterday,_ he thought; and his blood began to run cold.

He took a deep breath of the fresh air from the RV, pinched his nose shut, and looked out again. Watery sludge was fast collecting around them, sucking the tires down into its depths. Soon it would be impossible to drive away. And they were distant from the house – too distant from Beck's liking.

"Babe?" he called back over his shoulder. "I'm going around to the truck and move us closer to the house. Will you be okay for a few minutes?"

"Yeah, I'm good. But…watch yourself, will you?"

"Why, Jade West, was that actual _concern_ in your voice?"

She snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. I just don't relish the thought of hugging a boyfriend who's covered from head to toe in mud, is all."

But as he pulled up his shirt over his face to serve as an impromptu air filter and made ready to dash through the rain, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, that she was pale and shaking.

Slamming the door closed, he took off. His sneakers caught in the wet clay, making every step difficult, and the rain was falling so hard now that he could barely see six inches in front of him. The stench was still in the air, and even with his shirt as a mask, his breathing swiftly grew harsh and labored. Finally he could stand it no longer; he stepped out of his shoes and, barefoot, raced headlong to the welcome cab of the pickup.

Fumbling desperately for his keys, he tried to start the ignition. But the only response from the engine as he turned the key again and again was a sickening squeal. The dashboard lights faded from bright white to a weak yellow, then went out altogether; and at the same moment the engine fell silent.

"Damn," he spat. Not even bothering with a filter this time, he leapt out of the cab, ran around and popped the hood.

He had more than his fair share of experience with cars, but he had never seen anything like _this _before. Something – a large, dark, pulsating mass – sat atop the engine block. Beneath it he could see a hopeless tangle of fractured parts and cut cables.

No. The edges were too frayed to have been cut by any mechanical device. They must have been…

_Gnawed_ through?

The great mass began to separate. As Beck watched in horror, it resolved itself into slithering snakes, spiders, scorpions, rats, beetles and ants. He jumped back just in time to save his bare feet from being bitten as the torrent of vermin slid off the engine and onto the ground.

Nearly everyone who knew Beck Oliver believed him to be a man without fear. But in truth, he had one phobia that had plagued him ever since early childhood, a fear about which only his parents and Jade knew: snakes. And as a cottonmouth reared up and opened its gaping jaws, revealing fangs dripping with venom, Beck was all but blinded by sheer, limitless terror.

He let out a scream of anguish, turned, and fled toward the RV.

The moment he was through the door, Jade was on her feet. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Beck did not answer, but seized ahold of the couch and began dragging it to block the door. Realizing what he had in mind, Jade went to the other end and pushed with all her might.

But the couch, Beck quickly decided, would not be enough. Less than sixty seconds later, everything that could be moved in the RV was stacked up in front of the door. He sank to the floor, panting.

Jade sat down beside him. "Jesus, Beck, what's going _on_ out there?"

"I don't know. It's like…it's like all of nature is out to get us. The whole world has gone mad."

An unfamiliar sound, somewhere between the bray of a donkey and the whinny of a horse, reached their ears from out of the rain. They pressed their faces to the window glass, to see three mules approaching.

"They must have escaped from the Johnson farm down the road," said Beck. "But why didn't the Johnsons round them up?"

As the beasts of burden drew closer, he saw the answer.

Bloody scraps of fabric hung from their mouths.

"Oh, God…" He put his hand to his mouth to keep from vomiting. Jade turned away from the window and buried her face in her hands.

_Get __**ahold**__ of yourself, man,_ Beck thought desperately. _You have to be the strong one here. For her._

Suppressing his own fear, he put a comforting arm around Jade. "They can't get in, babe. Remember when we got stuck in the RV at the beach? This thing could probably hold off an assault by a squad of Marines. How much do you think freaking _mules_ can really do?"

A moment later, he cursed himself for voicing those words. For the three mules turned as one, like dancers in a grotesque ballet, and simultaneously lashed out with their mighty hind legs, rocking the RV back and forth.

When it settled, Beck spied a half dozen or so mountain lions approaching out of the rain. _Oh, thank God. They'll take care of those damn mules, or at least provide enough of a distraction that we can run for it._

But instead, the great cats took up positions on either side of the mules and stood quietly – waiting, it seemed, for a signal.

The mules kicked again. And this time, as the RV tottered, the mountain lions leapt atop it. Their combined weight was just enough to send the vehicle over the tipping point. It crashed onto its side in the mud, sending Beck and Jade sprawling.

Lying against the wall – now the floor – and watching his makeshift furniture blockade topple piece by piece, certain now that he and the girl he loved were about to die, Beck Oliver found himself, to his disbelief, recalling a Bible verse he had once learned in Sunday School, from the Book of Isaiah:

_The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together…_

It was meant as a prophecy of the coming days of peace. And perhaps, when all this was over, peace would indeed fall upon the earth, and all the creatures that walked, swim, or flew would be as one.

But man would no longer be among them.


	8. Siege

**A/N: This is quite a long chapter, at least by my standards.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

For Deputy Harry Yang, life, the world, all of existence had momentarily been reduced to a single number.

"Eleven…twelve…thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…_damn_ it."

Fifteen rounds. That was all the ammunition here in the house that would fit the rifle he had taken from Susan Coldstream's gun closet. An expert marksman he might be, but even he had to miss occasionally – and even if he could somehow make every shot a kill shot, the sheer numbers of their attackers would overwhelm him and Trina the moment his ammo was exhausted.

Perhaps, he thought grimly, he should go ahead and save two bullets, in anticipation of the inevitable moment when they faced being torn to shreds.

One bullet for her, one for himself.

No. That sort of fatalism would do no one any good. Help might come. The beasts might break off their inexplicable attack as suddenly as it had begun. Nothing was yet written in stone.

Until his last breath, he would fight – fight to protect her.

He was unsure quite how he felt about Trina Vega. It was clear that she had fallen for him – he was hardly so blind as to miss that fact. Being himself a man given by nature to emotional reserve, even stoicism, it was more than a little unsettling to find this headstrong woman so utterly infatuated with him when they had known each other scarcely two days.

But as much as she disturbed him, she also intrigued him. He had never met anyone with so much force of personality. It was as though a tornado had blown into the little town the moment she arrived, and nothing would ever be quite the same for anyone – least of all him.

Harry considered the string of girlfriends he'd had over the last few years. He knew that he was good-looking – though that knowledge had never led to vanity – and this wasn't the first time he'd attracted, for want of a better word, a groupie. But too often he had found that a pretty face concealed a hollow center. He was sick and tired of attempting to make conversation, trying to get to know the doe-eyed blonde sitting across from him at some Italian restaurant, only to learn that there was simply nothing there to know.

That was clearly not the case with Trina. Others might dismiss her as superficial, but Harry was astute enough as a judge of character to detect the many layers of her soul. There was strength, and determination, and ambition – and, he suspected, more than a small amount of anguish that desperately needed to be healed.

Whether he was the one who could carry out that healing, he had no idea. But there was a part of him that, to his surprise and discomfort, desperately longed to try. It might just be his natural instinct as a lawman to protect the vulnerable…but he wasn't entirely sure of that.

Whatever the case might be, he couldn't help but feel that as love-crazed stalkers went, a man could do a great deal worse than Trina Vega.

_And,_ he thought with a wry smile,_ the fact that she's got absolutely __**killer **__legs doesn't hurt things one bit._

_Wait…where __**is**__ she?_

He looked about frantically. There was no sign of her in the darkened living room. "Trina? TRINA!"

"Oh, hold your horses," came a voice from the general direction of the storeroom. A moment later the wounded girl appeared, staggering under the weight of a large cardboard box crammed to bursting with bottles, rags, matchbooks, and cans of gasoline. "Little help here?"

Laying down his weapon, he leapt to relieve her of the burden. "Have you lost your mind? You should be resting!"

"Like hell. If we're going to get through this alive, we've both got to pitch in."

"But your leg is-"

"All torn up? Yeah, I kinda noticed. But my arms are just fine."

As he surveyed the odds and ends she had fetched, he realized just what she had in mind. "You can't be serious."

"Hey! I was the starting pitcher for the best junior-high softball team in Los Angeles County back in the day. You really think I can't hurl a Molotov cocktail or two?"

He shook his head. "No way. It's too dangerous."

She raised an eyebrow. "You have a better alternative, I take it?"

"I…" He sighed. "Fine. But not until we've got no other choice."

"I don't think it's going to be very long before we cross that particular bridge." She went to the window and put her eye to a crack between the boards. Standing next to her, he looked out over the slope.

The rain had abated slightly, and the clouds had parted enough so that a weak beam of moonlight shone upon the ragtag army gathered around the farmhouse. Harry could just make out the matted fur and dripping jowls of the mountain lions that, as the largest and most formidable of their enemies, had taken up a position in the vanguard. The beasts stood still as statues. Though he knew it was absurd, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that somehow they could see him, or sense his presence, behind the boarded window, and that their ceaseless stare was meant to wear down his psychological resistance until he would give up and meet death willingly at their claws.

_Sorry, kitty cats, but it ain't gonna happen._

He chipped away at the crack with his pocketknife until he had enough space for the barrel of his rifle and a decent line of sight. Trina busied herself soaking the rags in gasoline and jamming them into the necks of the glass bottles.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Still there was no movement from the animals outside. Sweat dripped down the back of Harry's neck; his grip on the rifle began to sag.

Trina put a hand on his shoulder. "Take a break, Harry. I'll keep watch."

He hesitated a moment, then lowered the barrel. Awkwardly they exchanged positions.

Another ten minutes passed in silence.

"So…um…tell me about yourself." The words came tumbling suddenly out of Trina's mouth, driven by the motor of anxiety. "Where are you from? What do your parents do? Why'd you become a cop? Likes? Dislikes?"

He chuckled. "Let's see: I was born in Taiwan, but moved here when I was two. My parents own a computer store in Sacramento, but I've always been more the fresh-air type, and as for being a cop…well, I guess I just wanted to help people, is all. I like bell peppers, the smell of freshly cut grass, and Beethoven. I don't like Brussels sprouts, the noise motorcycles make, or crazy animals that keep trying to kill me. Oh, and my shoe size is 9½, in case you were wondering. Does that cover it?"

Trina laughed. "Yeah, that'll do for now."

"In that case, it's your turn. All I know about you is that you're from LA, you don't get along with that girl who dresses in black, and that…" _Oh, hell. We're probably not going to live much longer – why not go for it? _"…that even when you've been attacked by a loony coyote and you're fighting for your life, you still manage to look lovely."

She stared at him in surprise. "What did you say?"

"Just…nothing. I'm sorry, Trina…Miss Vega. I overstepped my bounds. Forgive me." _Yang, you blabber-mouthed __**fool**__…_

"No," she said softly. "No, it's not that at all. I'm just not using to hearing something like that from...anyone, really."

"You're kidding."

"To tell the truth, my friends are always saying that I'm a little bit…well…ugly. At least compared to my sister." She looked away, embarrassed.

He laid a gentle finger on her chin and turned her head back to look him in the eye. "In that case, I'd say two things. One, I'm not sure whether people who talk like that really deserve to be your friends. And two, they need an eye exam. Desperately."

As they leaned toward one another, their lips about to touch, a horrible caterwauling arose from outside. Quickly they broke their clench and Harry resumed his post.

At long last, the army was on the move. Their advance was once again slow and deliberate, their order impeccable. He realized that this was more, much more, than simple madness. Something had altered the fundamental nature of these beasts, rewritten their very biology. He guessed that it was the strange chemical whose stink he could still detect, albeit more weakly, in the air.

As he took aim at the foremost of the mountain lions, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Trina was rubbing her swollen foot.

"That coyote really did do a number on you, didn't he?" he said.

"Actually, this wasn't the coyote's fault, believe it or not. I walked into an andiron in the dark, and-" She stopped, and the color drained from her face.

"What? What is it?"

"When you were sealing up the entrances – did you remember the fireplace?"

"No, I…" Suddenly the import of her words sunk in. "Oh, _crap_."

The air was filled with the sound of beating wings. One after the other, a seemingly endless train of owls and ravens swooped into the living room. Ignoring Trina, they went straight for Harry, beating him about the face with their powerful wings, pecking with their sharp beaks, narrowly missing his exposed eyes. He waved his rifle about like a club as the feathered maelstrom surrounded him on all sides. Trina picked up a broom – the nearest weapon to hand – and waded into the fray, but there were simply too many birds to cope with. In a concerted effort, a half-dozen bit Harry's fingers at once, and, with a cry of pain, he dropped his weapon.

At that very moment, outside, the beasts sprang. Wave after wave hurled themselves at the boarded-up windows, with no regard for their own life or limb. A board gave in, then another; and through the gap came an immense mountain lion, yowling ferociously.

Harry was weaponless and helpless, unable even to see clearly as the flock continued to assault him.

_Oh, Trina…I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you… _

Trina punched the mountain lion.

Harry blinked. He must have been imagining things. There was no _way_ that…

She punched it again.

Bracing herself against the wall, she whipped around her uninjured leg and delivered a roundhouse kick to its jaw.

And as it shrank bank in confusion and pain, she calmly picked up the rifle Harry had dropped and fired at point-blank range into its face.

The noise threw the birds into a panic, and Trina took full advantage. Pulling out a match, she lit the end of her broom ablaze and whipped it about like a torch.

The assault on Harry ceased. In moments the birds were in full retreat, leaving a drift of singed feathers behind them as they fled back to the fireplace and up the chimney.

Once they were gone, she dropped the blazing broom onto the cobwebbed logs that still sat in the fireplace, left over from the previous winter. Up came the flames, tall and bright.

Harry wished that he could have time to stop and admire the sheer magnificence of what Trina had just accomplished, but the animal army would afford him no such luxury. He leaned through the gap and, with two expertly placed shots, drove back the advance guard. The remaining cougars, wolves, coyotes and bobcats fell back on the main body, uncertain whether or not to resume the attack in the face of this unexpected resistance.

Trina returned, hobbling, her leg again bleeding.

"Let me change your bandage," he said immediately.

"Not yet. We need to get the blockade back up." She motioned to the hole in the boards. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

He looked out. She was absolutely right; the ranks of beasts were regrouping, preparing for a second assault. The rain had stopped completely now, and in the light of the unobstructed full moon he could see clearly the mix of determination and sheer bloodlust that marked their faces.

_Please, God,_ he prayed silently, _let help come soon._

/

By all rights, Joe Porter should have been dead long ago. His stomach had been ripped and gashed nearly down to the intestines, and his right arm was connected to his shoulder by nothing more than a few fragile sinews. Yet somehow, miraculously, he still breathed; he even managed to stand long enough to survey the pile of dead dogs, cats, snakes, and porcupines that lay at his feet.

_I may be a drunken old fool, but I've got some mettle left in me yet_, he thought with no small amount of satisfaction.

The office looked like a war zone. The door to the outside had been lacerated by stray bullets until it was little more than a sieve. Furniture was overturned; Porter's desk was smashed to bits. The computer monitor lay atop a raccoon that had somehow managed, even in its death throes, to sink its teeth into Porter's foot.

But one item of equipment remained undamaged, more precious than all the rest combined: the radio. He staggered toward it and lifted the receiver with his still functioning left hand.

"Hello? Sacramento? This is Sheriff Porter, Schuester County. Do you read?"

The set crackled into life. "We read. Go ahead."

"We've got something going on here. I don't know whether it's a rabies outbreak, or a terrorist attack, or what, but…you won't believe this. Everything – everything's attacking us. I don't know how many people are dead, but God knows I can't handle this by myself."

"All right, Sheriff. We'll mobilize the National Guard and send in a Hazmat team, just in case there's been some kind of biological…"

There came the crack of a gunshot, and the next instant the radio exploded in a shower of sparks. As Joe Porter turned, a second shot struck him between the ribs, knocking him down.

"You shouldn't have done that, Sheriff," said Susan Coldstream, standing over him. "I'm not finished. Not yet. And I can't afford outside interference."

He looked up at her through failing eyes. "S-Susan? You did this? But why-"

"To make them suffer," she replied through clenched teeth. "They took my husband. They took my baby girl. They don't deserve to exist."

"No. Not 'they'. One man. _One man_ took your family away from you. It's not the fault of the whole damn human race, Susan. You have to know that. Somewhere in you there has to be some shred of rationality left…"

"Oh, I'm rational, Joe. More rational than I've ever been – more rational than _anyone's_ ever been. I'm the only one who sees humanity for what it is. Its endless consumption of resources. Its folly, its self-destructiveness. All that ends today." She aimed the revolver at his temple. "Forgive me."

But Joe Porter's strength was not yet entirely gone. Just as Susan's finger tightened on the trigger, he grabbed her shin and pulled as hard as he could. Surprised, she fell as her leg went out from under her.

He went for her gun; she fought back. They grappled desperately, he the stronger and heavier of the two but badly wounded, she motivated by sheer fury. Their fingers wrapped around the trigger simultaneously.

A shot.

Neither was sure what had happened until the bloodstain began to spread through Susan's flannel shirt.

"But…but this can't happen," she said, staring at the wound in shock. "I'm not done yet. Revenge…I have to live long enough to see it…"

"Sorry to disappoint you," Joe Porter gasped. His lungs were swimming in blood. "We're both done for, Susan. Make your peace…before you go…"

He collapsed, his eyes still open.

The room began to swirl around Susan Coldstream. "Tom…Hannah…wait for me…soon…soon I'll be where you are…"

And a little girl's voice, filled with infinite sadness, whispered: "No, Mommy. You won't."

The darkness came upon her.


	9. The Grip of Fear

**A/N: I'm not altogether satisfied with this chapter, but I don't want to lose momentum on this story. Also, thanks to those who are reviewing. Your comments help keep me going.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

Something wet was swirling around Beck's right hand. With difficulty, he turned his aching neck to see what it was.

His fishtank had shattered. The water was running slowly down a small hole in the frame of the RV, while the tropical fish flopped about and gasped for oxygen.

_Sorry, guys. But at least __**you**__ won't be attacking me tonight._

Then he realized that the wetness was not water alone. The broken glass had lacerated his palm. He tried to squeeze his hand shut and cried out in pain.

"Beck? Beck, are you alright?" came a tiny voice from the other end of the overturned RV.

"Yeah, babe. I'll be okay. How about you?"

"I've…um…been better…"

He raised himself to look, and gasped. Jade lay prostrate, a heavy lamp pinning her leg in place. Above her, the window had shattered and lay open to the night sky; and through the fracture, hundreds of spiders were descending one by one, spinning out their strands of web as they sank onto Jade's torso, then crawling about her freely as soon as they landed.

Beck shuddered. "Have you been bitten?" he called to her.

"No. They're not _trying_ to bite me."

"Then what…"

As the moonlight fell on Jade, Beck saw that her black clothing was now covered with great swathes of white.

Spider silk.

_Oh, God. They're __**mummifying**__ her._

"Jade, you've got to brush them away!"

"I can't. By the time I came to they'd already gotten my arms." It was true; strand upon strand bound her arms to her sides.

"Hang on. I'll help you-"

As he braced his arm against the roof, attempting to stand, a cold, scaly creature entwined itself about his forearm – and rattled.

He froze still as a statue. Out of the corner of his eye he could just see the telltale dull brown markings.

_Don't move. Don't move, don't provoke it, and it won't strike. Those are the rules._

_But the rules don't mean anything anymore._

As if to prove the point, the rattlesnake began to behave as no member of its species ever had before. It neither remained coiled nor struck; instead, it softly, almost gently, raked its bare fangs up and down Beck's arm – not forcefully enough to break the skin, but enough so that Beck could not fail to be aware of what it was up to.

_Is it…__**toying **__with me?_

_I wouldn't mind as much if they would just kill us outright. But this kind of sadism – I thought it was only __**humans **__who were capable of that._

He realized, with a shiver of dread, just what must have happened. The long exposure to the chemical in the air – he was sure now that it must be the cause of all this – had produced effects far beyond the brief frenzy that had struck Thunderheart. These animals could think. They could plan. And they wanted to make sure that he and Jade suffered as much as their bodies and minds could possibly endure before they at last administered the killing blow.

It was working, too. Never in his life had he felt so utterly helpless.

"Beck? Beck, please help me…" Jade called in a trembling voice.

"I'm so sorry, babe, but…I can't…" He stared, almost hypnotized, at the rattlesnake that was still sliding its fangs back and forth along his bare flesh.

"Of course, you can. You're Beck Oliver, remember? Mr. Fearless?"

"You know better than anyone that I'm _not_ fearless."

"Yeah, I know that. I _also_ know that you have enough strength to overcome your fears when you have to. And that's exactly what you're going to do right now, because if you don't, we're both dead."

"I…" He stared into the rattlesnake's beady eyes.

"For God's sake, Beck, do it! _Now!_" she yelled, and the sheer anguish in her voice stung him into action. With his other hand, he seized the rattlesnake just beneath its head, so that it could not bite him; it snapped its fangs angrily but impotently in the air.

He squeezed with all the strength he could muster. The rattle snapped about; the snake thrashed furiously; but at last it could breathe no longer, and it went limp in his hand.

There was no time to revel in his accomplishment. Moments later he was kneeling beside Jade, pulling the lamp off her leg, ripping the webs off her with his bare hands, batting away the spiders as they swarmed.

As soon as she was free, they made for the emergency exit in the roof. It was stuck fast, but they leaned against it and pushed desperately, and finally it gave way.

They emerged, to be greeted by a pack of waiting wolves.

_A trap,_ thought Beck. _They actually set a trap._

_We're not going to win this one._

The alpha male (for the wolves had not given up their pack structure) gestured with a nod of its massive head toward its followers. They began to advance, as Beck and Jade backed slowly against the RV, turning their heads desperately from side to side to look for an escape route. None was to be found.

Beck's heart sank in utter despair.

A rock, thrown from somewhere above them on the hill slope, struck the alpha between the ears. It turned and snarled in protest.

"Todos ustedes, desaparecen!"

"_Carlos?_" Jade cried.

It was he. His shirt had been torn to rags, his pants were covered in muck, and a nasty scar ran the length of his bare chest – a bear's handiwork, from the looks of it – but the fierce vitality in his eyes was undimmed. A pouch filled with stones hung at his hip; he drew two more from it and hurled them into the midst of the pack.

"Are you crazy?" said Beck. "They'll _kill_ you!"

"I am not so easy to kill as you may think, señor Oliver. But this is not the time for talk. When they chase me, you and the señorita must flee to the house. As quickly as you can."

"But-"

"Do you hear me? You _must!_"

"…Thank you," Beck whispered. "I hope we meet again."

"Vaya con dios." And Carlos took off running up the slope, the pack nipping at his heels.

"That poor man-" Tears were in Jade's eyes.

"Come on," said Beck, taking hold of her arm and all but dragging her away. "We've got to go _now_."

"No. We have to help-"

"There's nothing we can do for him now. And if he does die, I don't want it to be in vain!"

"…All right." Reluctantly she began to sprint toward the house, with him matching her stride for stride.

There came a call from behind the boarded-up window: "Come on! Hurry!"

"That was Trina's voice. She's alive!" Heartened by the discovery, they picked up their pace.

Frantically, Trina and Harry began to tear away boards, trying to make a human-sized gap.

"Come on, Jade, baby! We're almost there!"

But by now the animals had cottoned on to Carlos' diversion. A wild boar, its tusks lowered menacingly, charged, trying to cut Beck and Jade off from the house.

Harry Yang took careful aim. He was already down to a mere three bullets, and had no intention of wasting this one.

"Would you fire already?" Jade screamed. "What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?"

At last he pulled the trigger. The boar staggered, but did not fall; after a moment, its hindquarters bleeding, it resumed the charge.

Harry swore loudly and reloaded; but he feared accidentally hitting Beck or Jade, and the anxiety threw off his aim. The bullet buried itself harmlessly in the mud.

Now he let off a stream of profanity that would have made a sailor cover his ears.

Over his shoulder a Molotov cocktail sailed through the chilly air and struck the boar full on the back. Its bristles exploded into flame as it squealed in utter agony.

Beck and Jade sprinted past the animal in its death throes and leapt through the hole, into the waiting arms of Trina and Harry.

Celebration could wait. With nothing but a quick exchange of smiles among the four of them, they set to work sealing up the window once again.

The work finished, Harry Yang sat down, his head between his hands. Trina's brow furrowed with concern; she began to knead his shoulders, which were full of tense knots. "What's wrong?"

"You mean other than the fact that we're now down to one bullet thanks to my incompetence?"

"Incompetence? Are you _kidding_ me? You've been incredible throughout all of this nightmare. And what does it matter who actually brought down the boar? We're in this together."

"That's all well and good, but what are we going to do once I have to use up this last round and the animals figure out we've got nothing to stop them with? We're just delaying the inevitable."

Beck couldn't stand Harry's display of self-pity any longer. "You have no way of knowing that. The dawn's coming soon, and we'll have a much easier time of it when we can see our enemies clearly. Besides, who knows? Maybe Carlos will get away safely and bring help."

"Do you really think that's likely?" Jade asked.

Beck sighed. "I have no idea, honestly. But something tells me that if anyone can survive out in that wilderness, he can."

/

Beck wasn't wrong. Almost since he could walk, Carlos del Moro had been a creature of the fields, the scrubland and the mountains – not by choice, but by bitter necessity. His father's death at the hands of a cartel member's stray bullet had left him the primary breadwinner to support his mother and sister, first by working odd jobs in their hometown of Ciudad Juarez, then as a migrant field hand in California, sending a portion of his paycheck back to Mexico. No one in Schuester County knew this terrain better than he, and now he deployed everything in his bag of tricks to evade his relentless pursuers: hiding behind flowering bushes whose strong scent would throw them off the trail, doubling back to erase his own footprints, taking shortcuts over almost impassably rocky terrain and squeezing between cliff faces barely three feet apart. Still, he had one crippling limitation: sooner or later he would tire. The air was clear up here, high in the mountains, the horrid scent entirely gone; but it was also thin, too thin for Carlos' wheezing lungs. His pursuers, on the other hand, seemed to have a limitless supply of energy, and even when one did give up in exhaustion, two more appeared to take its place.

At last he found himself scrabbling up a sheer rock face, trying desperately to maintain his handhold in the slippery mud. His arms felt as though they had lead weights suspended from them, and the animals clearly sensed his fatigue, for they made no effort to try to dislodge him. Instead, a half dozen bobcats strung themselves out in a line at the foot of the slope and waited patiently for the inevitable moment when his grip would give way.

In the weak pre-dawn light, a hollow space just above his head became visible in outline. A cave. A refuge.

The hope gave him one last burst of strength. Hand over hand he hauled himself up until his fingers grasped the welcome rock of the cave ledge.

The bobcats screeched in protest and began to circle around the slope.

_What are they doing…_

_Oh, Dios mio. They've found another path._

He was unsure whether to curse himself for his stupidity in getting himself trapped, or whether to curse _them_ for becoming so devilishly smart. But what did it matter? Either way, he was dead.

Suddenly he sensed that he was not alone in the cave. Far back around a bend, something snorted and pawed the ground.

_So, then, I am dead from both sides._ He sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

The bobcats yowled in triumph from the cave entrance.

A massive shape came barreling out of the cave, shoving Carlos against the wall. Half-stunned, he could not see what was happening, but could only hear the noises of what appeared to be a pitched battle, a mixture of angry cat-hisses and vociferous whinnying.

One by one, the bobcats cried out in agony and fell silent, until only the whinnying was left.

Exhausted and bleeding, Carlos del Moro fainted.

And as the bliss of unconsciousness descended on his tired body, he felt a great tongue gently nuzzling his neck.


	10. Dawn

**A/N: One more chapter after this one.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

The grey haze of early morning settled upon the Coldstream farm, and the gathering light revealed a scene of utter devastation. Wherever the ground was dry enough for the grass to burn, small fires smoldered, the residue of Trina's Molotov cocktails. Beck's RV lay on its side, half-sunk into the mud, now a haunt for vermin. Harry's car, too, was a wreck, torn into fragments by the hooves and horns of cattle. And the bodies of animals – whether shot, burned, or simply dead of sheer exhaustion – littered the open plain all the way to the foot of the slope beyond. Only two survivors remained: mountain lions, a male and a female, prowling to and fro warily barely twenty yards from the house.

"Well, I think it's safe to say that PETA's not going to like this," said Jade, gesturing toward the carnage.

The others turned and gave her withering stares.

"What? I was just trying to lighten the mood, that's all."

It was needed. For all their successes in repelling wave after wave of attacks, matters still looked grim for the group. With little oxygen making its way into the tightly sealed house, breathing was difficult. The temperature was fast rising outside, and thanks to the fire still blazing in the fireplace, the little band of four were dripping with sweat. Harry had spent his last bullet on a black bear whose powerful paws had nearly wrenched the boards off the window, and the box of bottles was conspicuously empty, so there would be no more flaming grenades. Simply put, if the cougars should breach the perimeter, the four of them would be defenseless.

"Should we make a break for it?" Trina asked Harry.

"I don't much care for the idea of being torn to shreds, do you?"

"Well, no, but we've been trapped in this damn house for hours, and it's starting to feel like the freaking bowels of hell. It might be better just to try our chances out there. There's only two of them, anyway."

"That's two too many, so far as I'm concerned. Better to wait them out."

She sighed. "I guess you're right. And if I _have_ to be stuck with somebody…well, I'm just glad it's you."

Despite his near-exhaustion, he managed to grin – that gleaming, white-toothed grin that had almost knocked Trina off her feet when she first met him. "The feeling's mutual."

"Hey! Lovebirds!" Jade called from across the room. "You're going to make me lose my lunch! If there's going to be any mushy stuff here, Beck and I will take care of it, okay?"

"Fine, fine," Trina grumbled. "What happened between you two, anyway? Two days ago you couldn't stand to be within ten feet of each other – now you practically live in Make-out City. I don't get it."

Beck put his arm around Jade and drew her close to him. "Sometimes it takes nearly losing someone to realize how much they really mean to you."

Jade scowled. "In other words, all I had to do to win you back was almost get my neck broken?"

"That's not what I meant-"

"Oh, and just what _did_ you mean?"

"I…um…have I mentioned how gorgeous you look today?"

"I'm covered with sweat and mud, Beck. And don't you _dare_ try to change the subject."

"Are they always like this?" Harry asked Trina.

"Yep, pretty much…hey, what's going on with the sky?"

The gray had been giving way to pink and gold for nearly half an hour, but now, strangely, darkness had returned, masking the rising sun.

"Oh, not another storm cloud," Harry said with a sigh. "We don't need any more rain just now."

Trina looked more closely at the patch of darkness. A chill went through her. "Harry? That's…that's not a cloud."

A great drone filled the air – a steady, monotonous humming that drowned out the song of the birds, the chirp of the crickets, and the whisper of the wind.

"Wasps," Harry gasped.

Jade and Beck abandoned their bickering and went to look. "What do we do?" asked the Goth girl.

"Not much we can do, really." The deputy had quickly recovered his composure. "And it's not as serious as it looks, anyway. We'll have to board up this gap, of course, but I don't think there's anywhere else in the house they can get in."

The swarm of wasps seemed to stretch for miles. Forming itself into a rough approximation of an arrow, it aimed its point directly at the smoking chimney.

"Are they crazy?" said Jade. "They're going to be incinerated if they try to come in that way."

"Maybe the effect of that chemical is wearing off," Harry answered with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Maybe they've lost that weird intelligence and gone back to being regular old wasps."

"But don't wasps normally _avoid_ smoke?" Beck pointed out.

The deputy had no answer to that. He fell silent, brooding.

A cluster of wasps emerged in the fireplace, their wings ablaze.

"You're right, Jade. They've lost their tiny little minds," Trina said.

The wasps were clearly in crippling pain, their bodies nearly consumed, but they continued to move as one – directly toward the curtains that overhung the kitchen window. As their flaming wings brushed past, the thin fabric of the curtains was set alight.

It was Beck who was first to realize the horror of what was happening. "No. They know _exactly_ what they're doing. It's a _suicide_ mission. They're going to burn this place down and smoke us out, no matter how many of them have to die to do it."

Without a word, Harry Yang went for the fire extinguisher and began to spray. Trina ran madly for the storeroom for buckets and handed them one by one to Jade, who filled them from the bathtub faucet and passed them on to Beck to hurl on the various blazes that sprang up. But their efforts, Herculean though they were, were not enough. Just as Beck had successfully put out the parlor drapes, another cluster came through and set upon the hallway carpet. Harry's extinguisher, meanwhile, was already running low on foam when a third flaming wave flew up the staircase and dispersed itself upon the wooden support beams of the roof high above. Tiny wisps of fire erupted at two dozen different points, spread, and joined each other, consuming the timbers greedily.

"It's no good!" Harry yelled to the others. "The roof's going to cave in at this rate. We've got to clear out!"

"But the cougars-" said Jade.

"I'll distract them!"

"No!" cried Trina. "I won't let you-"

"We don't have time to argue!" The muscular deputy lowered one shoulder, worked himself up to a running start, and crashed through the boards over the living room window, tearing open a path. "Come on!" He faked right, then cut left, trying to draw off the male. "Just _try_ to catch me, you son of a-"

But neither of the cougars had any interest in Harry. Waiting for the other three to emerge, they charged straight at Jade – the weakest of the pack, the easiest to bring down. Once they were through with her, it would be on to Beck, then Trina and Harry, the two who posed the greatest physical threat.

Harry drew his service pistol and aimed it; the chamber might be empty, but perhaps the simple sight of the gun would be enough to frighten the mountain lions into withdrawing.

No such luck. They were too cunning to fall for so blatant a trick. Instead they both circled the group of three, looking for an opening to separate Jade from her friends.

Beck and Trina formed a screen in front of her. "Are you actually trying to _protect_ me, Vega?" Jade said incredulously.

"I guess I am. Things really are topsy-turvy now, aren't they?"

Harry was all but set to leap on the male's back and try to wrestle it with his bare hands when he spotted a cloud of dust on the horizon. Something was approaching at lightning speed. _Dammit. They're bringing in reinforcements._

_**Wait**__ a minute…_

He broke out in exultant laughter.

"What the hell is the _matter_ with you, dude?" Jade cried. "This isn't exactly a funny situation!"

"I'm sorry. It's just…I never in my life thought I would be able to say this and mean it_ literally_, but – _here comes the cavalry!_"

Now the two cougars finally turned, and the fur bristling on the back of their necks made it clear that they were feeling genuine panic. There was indeed a mighty creature approaching, but it was not on their side.

"Sorry to come so late, my friends!" shouted Carlos from astride Thunderheart. "It was not easy to coax _el caballo_ out of his cave. I think he is ashamed for what he did to señorita West."

"It's okay!" Jade cried as tears of relief began to flow. "I forgive him!"

The black horse reared high and brought its muscular forelegs down on the back of the male cougar. The big cat was flattened to the ground; its spine snapped with a sickening crack.

The female hissed in fury and anguish over the death of her mate. She made a move to attack Thunderheart from the flank, but he turned to face her with a contemptuous whinny, and she immediately thought better of it. With a final defiant snarl, she loped away toward the refuge of the mountains.

The group turned to watch as the last of the wasps poured into the Coldstream chimney in a now utterly futile gesture. As Harry had predicted, the roof began to totter, then disintegrated, falling in onto the already burning second story; the floor collapsed in turn, burying the living room where the four of them had just been holed up in a pile of flaming debris.

"Susan's going to be heartbroken when she sees this," said Beck.

"If she's still alive," Jade replied softly. "We don't have any idea how widespread this was, or how many people died."

"No," said Harry. "But we're going to find out. And we're going to help anyone who needs it."

"The roads are covered in mud; even the Jeep will not be able to make it through," said Carlos. "We must go on foot, and it will be a long journey into town. Perhaps señorita West would like a ride?"

Jade climbed onto Thunderheart as the ranch hand dismounted. The feel of the stallion's powerful muscles beneath her fingers filled her with an exultant thrill. He let out a soft snort as she stroked his mane.

"All righty, boy. I know we had a rough time of it before, but maybe we can get to know each other properly now, okay?"

He whinnied cheerfully in response – and was it Jade's imagination, or did he actually nod his head?

"Well, I guess that's settled," she said with a smile. "Away we go."

At a slow trot, her friends following on foot, she headed down the valley. Behind them, at long last, the sun rose high.

And this time, there was no red sky.


	11. Epilogue

**A/N: Maybe I should take a break for a while. My good-ideas fund is all but drained.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

Despite the collaborative efforts of the best scientific minds the nation had to offer, it would never be entirely clear just what had happened that fateful night in Schuester County. The town and its surrounding farms and ranches were in ruins; fewer than a third of Schuester's almost 1300 inhabitants had survived the rampage, and they, being understandably shell-shocked, gave hopelessly conflicting accounts. It did become evident early on that Susan Coldstream was in some way involved; her truck held the propane tank from which the mysterious chemical had been released, and her gun was connected to the murders of both Esther Richardson and Joe Porter. But with her house a flaming wreck, there were few clues for searchers to uncover. Of her basement laboratory, nothing survived save a small framed photograph of an unknown man and girl that had miraculously escaped the flames.

The chemical that had blanketed the area was stubbornly resistant to all efforts at analysis or duplication. It seemed that Susan's secrets had died with her. The news brought a sigh of relief to the higher-ups at the Department of Homeland Security, who immediately ordered all existing samples destroyed, save one that was locked away in a high-security vault somewhere deep beneath the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Joe Porter was buried with full honors and a twenty-one gun salute at the state cemetery. His newly appointed successor as county sheriff, Harry Yang, laid a wreath upon his grave. Those standing nearby, if they were listening carefully, noticed that as he did so he whispered: "Rest well, old man. You've earned it."

Slowly but surely, life began to return to normal. But for months to come, every time a hawk screeched above, or the buzzing of bees was heard, or a coyote crashed through the underbrush in search of a fresh sheep carcass, the survivors of the Schuester incident would momentarily freeze in fear, praying that the nightmare was not about to begin all over again.

/

Two days after the incident, Tori Vega was running herself ragged in a vigorous game of Wii Tennis when the front door unexpectedly opened. She turned, to see her thoroughly exhausted-looking older sister.

"Trina! What the heck are you doing home? Don't you have, like, three more weeks of work?"

"Not anymore, I don't. I've had enough of a taste of the ranching life to last me a lifetime."

"So Helen and Lane are letting you off the hook?"

"Once I explained the situation to them, they were happy to count the community service requirement as filled."

"Situation? What 'situation'?"

"I don't really want to talk about it. I'd rather just put it all behind me." Trina collapsed onto the couch and sighed contentedly at the welcoming softness of the cushions.

"Um…all right. But you know how lucky you are, right? I've still got until the end of the month to deal with those little monsters."

"The kids at the day care? What happened to 'I want three…no, four…no, five' and all that?"

"That was before I found out about the whole 'wiping away snot bubbles' and 'cleaning up puke' side of child care. God, it's so tiring. I think I'd rather be mauled by _wild animals_ than have to change another diaper, and-"

"Tori?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't."

"But-"

"Just. _**Don't.**_"

Tori was still puzzled, but the look on her sister's face told her that it would be unwise to pursue the matter any further.

Trina's phone rang. It took Tori a moment to recognize the unfamiliar ring tone. "The theme from _Bonanza_? I've never heard you use _that_ before."

"It's for one of my new contacts." Trina ran into the kitchen and closed the door. Tori perked up her ears, but could only make out snatches of the conversation: "Of course…weekend free…I'd _love_ to…that spiffy uniform of yours…why, you naughty, naughty boy!"

Tori's curiosity was practically driving her mad by the time her sister re-emerged from the kitchen sporting an ear-to-ear grin. "Okay, spill. Who was that? What the heck are you up to?"

"Just making some weekend plans. Up north."

"I thought you'd had enough of the country!"

Trina winked at her knowingly. "Maybe not just yet."

/

"So, sir, madam, this beauty can be yours for just $42,000! A genuine certified Airstream, complete with microwave, dishwasher, gas heater, fold-out beds, and aluminum wheels!"

Beck turned to Jade. "What do you think?"

"Does it really _matter_ what I think? It's your money, and it'll be your RV if you buy it. I'll just be stopping by from time to time."

"It doesn't have to be 'from time to time', you know," he said softly.

Her eyes widened. "Are…are you sure?"

"More sure than I've ever been about anything."

They leaned in, and would have kissed had the pushy salesman not interrupted by very noisily clearing his throat. "Now, for an extra $1,000, you can upgrade to a model that has its very own built-in chimney and fireplace! Does that sound appealing to you folks?"

"No!" Beck and Jade shouted in unison.

/

Somewhere high in the mountains of northern California, a female cougar licked her cubs. Already she had sensed their embryonic presence in her belly when the accursed humans and the great hooved thing had murdered her mate. Now she clung to them fiercely, as the only reminder of the one she had loved and lost.

She and her mate had been exposed longer to Susan's chemical than any other creatures. The changes wrought by the exposure were permanent – the tell-tale red eyes, and the cunning intellect behind them, would be a part of her always.

Now, for the first time since their birth, the tiny cubs opened their eyes. And their mother, watching closely, gave a little purr of satisfaction.

Their eyes, too, were red.

Soon they would grow to adulthood, and mate, and sire others like themselves, who would sire others in turn. And then – one day – their legions would descend from the mountains, to again challenge humanity for the dominion of the earth.

One day…

_**END**_


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